


A Beautiful Stranger

by Barkour



Category: Disney's House of Mouse, Frozen (2013), Tangled (2010), The Little Mermaid (1989)
Genre: Crossover, Crossover Pairings, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-19
Updated: 2014-05-19
Packaged: 2018-01-25 18:47:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1658684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barkour/pseuds/Barkour
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The House of Mouse welcomes two new princesses and their entourage, while Mother Gothel welcomes a new villain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Beautiful Stranger

**Author's Note:**

> THIS IS VERY SILLY!!!!!!!!! And possibly I will write more, IDK, please don't look at or acknowledge me. Thank you.
> 
> There are references to the canon relationship between Gothel and Rapunzel, so please be aware that there are mentions of emotional abuse in this. This fic is in the POV of the villains, as well, so ... yeah.

The thief grasped Rapunzel’s hair at her nape and swung his knife in a precise arc. The edge cleaved her hair, and, across the room, it cleaved through Gothel. She felt it acutely, cutting through her as the sun exploded out of Rapunzel. She remembered little of the next few moments, merely sensations. Her skin crumbled, flesh to dust. She was staggering backwards and from one step to another the bone of her right thigh splintered; it cracked; it shattered. 

Rapunzel was reaching out to Gothel, whose eyes were drying out very quickly. The girl was an indistinct and distant blur. What Gothel did remember then, very clearly, was that first night out in the woods, clutching the babe to her chest and trying to soothe her. As the sun began to peek through the trees, Rapunzel had at last fallen asleep against Gothel’s shoulder, and her breath had been warm and sticky against Gothel’s throat. 

She crashed against the window sill. Momentum carried her over. The fall was a long one, and at the end of it, nothing. It was all nothing, endlessly nothing; and Gothel was nothing in that. 

Then the lights came. After the lights came the music. The ground beneath her was hard, smooth and black, not cobblestones but something like a slab of rock that went on and on. She got up to her feet, finding as she did so that she had feet, and knees, and legs, and all the other things that came with a body; a young body. A large, square, bright building waited for her in the middle of that hard, black stone. Gothel took one step and then another after that; and she went towards those shining lights, like how flowers turned their faces up to the sun.

*

Ursula settled in comfortably next to Gothel at the booth. “Hello, dear woman,” said Ursula, and they went through the usual motions, kissing the air over each cheek.

“Have you heard? They’re introducing the new royalty tonight.”

“Oh, not more princesses,” said Gothel.

“Oh, yes,” said Ursula, waving Goofy over to take their order, “tiny little things. Poor waifs. But do be careful, dear—I was a princess myself once.”

“And what a relief that you are no longer,” Gothel said, pressing a hand to her own breast, “or you’d have to sit down there with Snow White and her wooden prince,” and they cackled together at the thought. Goofy blanched and took a detour to another booth, to check on Jafar’s water.

“He doesn’t want that tip, does he?” Gothel said, clicking her tongue.

Ursula flapped a hand dismissively. “I never tip the staff.”

Gothel had followed the line of booths from the booth where Jafar and Hook sat—no doubt later Cruella would take the seat opposite them—down to the tables arranged about the floor. Rapunzel was there, at a table with her tall thief, far enough back from the stage and near enough to a corner that they could get away with kissing. She looked happy most nights, with her hair short and shaped to frame her face. Once she had shaken her head ferociously, as if enjoying the freedom of having so little hair, and she had glanced up and seen Gothel. She hadn’t smiled then. Gothel supposed she’d deserved that. As she’d fallen, it had occurred to Gothel that perhaps she had not been as kind a mother as she ought to have been.

“Well, you ladies know what new royalty means,” said Hades, and Gothel turned quickly around. He hadn’t noticed—he never did, unless he thought he might work something out of it—but Ursula, who was looking pityingly at Gothel, certainly had.

Gothel ignored her and said dryly, “More blondes?” As if the House of Mouse were lacking blondes. 

Hades jerked his thumb at the booths. “Another one for us guys. So…” He rubbed his hands together. “Witch, warlock, or jealous suitor? Place your bets, ladies. Ten to one odds on a combo.”

Out of brand loyalty, Ursula wagered on a combination witch/rival royal; Snow White’s stepmother had made a similar bet. Gothel abstained. Goofy had nearly worked his way to their table.

“C’mon,” Hades wheedled, “I’m trying to run a business here.”

“You wouldn’t take advantage of a poor woman still struggling to get back on her feet,” Gothel said, pouting, and Ursula laughed. Goofy took another detour.

“Hey, I’m a great guy,” Hades said, closing his bets book. “And anyway, my wife’s here tonight so a little circumspection would not go unappreciated. Hi, honey!” 

Persephone, radiantly green and beautifully fat and seated directly in front of the stage, surrounded on all sides by heroes and princesses and whatever Stitch was, waved cheerily at them. Gothel cupped her hand and waved back.

“One word from either of you,” said Hades pleasantly, “and I’ll see the both of you fine ladies at my place.”

Ursula rested her chin on the back of her wrist and smiled darkly. “Darling, please. If you’re going to threaten us, you really must try harder. We’ve already died.”

As Hades floated on to the next booth, to fast talk Jafar and Hook, Goofy slunk up to take his place. 

“Gawrsh, I’m sure sorry for the delay,” he said. He fumbled with his pen. “Now what can I get you ladies to start with this nice evening?”

Gothel glanced away from the tables down by the stage. Ursula was smiling again. Gothel picked up her empty goblet and tipped it at Goofy. 

“Wine,” she said. “And do you see this part right here? Right at the very tippy-top? That itsy bitsy half inch? I don’t want to see more than half of that half inch exposed this evening.”

*

In came the new princesses, two young women with a strong family resemblance, one sleek and the other clocking her elbow against a chair not two steps into the theatre room.

“Oh,” said Ursula, rolling her eyes, “one of _those_ princesses,” but Gothel—so sentimental in her old age, how dreadful—had thought of how Rapunzel had used to trip around the tower, catching her toes on her hair. So perhaps Gothel shouldn’t have laughed at her and then scolded her for being so silly as to forget to clean up after herself, and perhaps Gothel should have cleaned her own messes rather than expecting Rapunzel to take care of that too, but everything was so clear in hindsight, wasn’t it? She downed the rest of the wine and made a note to turn her darlingest smile on Goofy before she eviscerated him—verbally, of course, who wanted to clean up such nasty stains?—for allowing her goblet to go empty for a whole minute.

It wasn’t until halfway through the second wretched cartoon of the evening, a Goofy How To, that a young man with reddish-brown hair stopped at the booth to ask for help. Ursula had gone to the bathroom at the start of the cartoon, declaring her stomach already too unwell to bear it, and so only Gothel was there. She was tapping her fingernail against the goblet’s lip, looking for Goofy in the crowd or perhaps one of those absurd penguins.

“Excuse me,” said the man hesitantly, and Gothel startled. He held out his hand, gloved, but stopped just short of touching her shoulder. He had very lovely eyes that he cast down, as if embarrassed to have caught her out so. A muscle in his cheek trembled. The sideburns, carefully maintained, that framed his cheeks should have made him look sophisticated; he looked instead to be terribly youthful. “I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean to startle you—”

“Startled?” Gothel touched her throat. “Me? Oh, no—why ever would someone sneaking up on me startle me?”

He blinked, and that was lovely too. Uncertainly he said, “I’m… really very sorry, miss—”

Gothel’s eyebrows went up. They did it entirely without her meaning to arch them.

“Oh, please!” she said quickly, and she struck for him with the speed of a rousing serpent. Her hand landed artfully on his biceps. Nicely muscled, not too thick: the jacket clung flatteringly to him. “I’m only teasing you. There’s no need for apologies between friends. Won’t you sit down?” She let go of his arm to gesture to the opposing seat.

He smiled sweetly. “Thank you. You’re very kind.” The young man brushed his coat tails up to sit. A very well-formed buttocks presented itself; or rather, he presented his buttocks, well-formed, very, &c. As he sat, his gaze turned down rather shyly, Gothel swapped her empty goblet for Ursula’s full one.

“I hope it isn’t too much trouble,” said the man. He set his arms on the table, folded, and peeked up at her. His smile—nearly as charming as his rear—was wry. “I just don’t know anyone here yet, and you looked as if you might know everyone.” That darling smile faded into a collection of worried lines, echoed around his eyes. “I’m not taking anyone else’s seat, am I?”

Gothel sipped from Ursula’s goblet and then, delicately, set it down. She smiled as charmingly back at this handsome young man, so new to the theatre, so unversed in the politics and history of the patrons as to call Gothel miss rather than ma’am, as if she were yet a girl.

“Don’t be silly,” Gothel scoffed, and she rested her fingertips languorously on his forearm. “You know full well that I wasn’t sitting alone.”

He blinked again, in a fluttering sort of way. The corner of his mouth turned up. “Excuse me?”

Gothel laughed, in as tinkling a fashion as she knew how. “You’ve been standing there by the doors for ten minutes, watching for Ursula to leave. Did you think I wouldn’t have noticed?”

For a long moment he went on looking at her, that expression of surprise and confused laughter unwavering. Then, slowly, his smile changed character. His eyes, wide and innocent, lidded, and the young man sat back. His arms unfolded. Gothel drew her hand away and cradled the goblet. His hands were flat on the table; he turned them over so the palms were up.

“Most people don’t, miss,” he said.

“Do I look like most people?”

“Most people aren’t so beautiful,” said the young man smoothly, and Gothel laughed again, not half so elegantly as before.

“How did you know?”

“Two new princesses and their entourage,” said Gothel, “and then there you were skulking in the shadows. Now, really, you can’t have thought we would think you were with one of those girls, when you didn’t even come in with them. You don’t really suit them.” 

She’d seen the clumsy princess spot him, standing near the doors, and seen too how she’d flushed and made to stand till the paler woman drew her down again and the large blond man with them moved to sit so that neither princess could see that fellow with the red-brown hair.

“And flattering me,” Gothel went on, “so shameless! Not, of course, that I didn’t enjoy it.”

That charming smile, wholly false, had gone entirely from his face. What was left was a man, very handsome, very cold, with a sharpness that fit his features far better than the bewildered naivety he had put on. He smiled thinly then.

“A beautiful woman deserves the respect of a gentleman,” he said, and he inclined his head to Gothel.

Gothel snapped her fingers, loudly so that the penguin waiter at the booth three down from hers jolted in a panic and began bustling over. Clayton went red in the face, but Gothel could hardly help that she’d a touch with the staff.

“You mustn’t let it get to you,” Gothel said. “You’d much rather suit us than those ungrateful, dewy-eyed heroes.”

“Us?” He arched one brow very lightly.

“The villains,” she said, brushing her fingers fleetingly across his wrist. “They wouldn’t have anything if it weren’t for us. Who needs a hero if there’s no villain? Do you like red wine?”

“I prefer white,” said the man.

“Then I believe we’ll have the champagne,” Gothel said to the waiter. “After all, we do want to celebrate our new friends.” To the young man she said, “Should I give you my name or do you already have it? You were looking at the host’s podium by the door. Did they have the seating chart out by any chance?”

“My lady Gothel,” he said demurely, and he took up her hand, so that the back of her wrist was bent gracefully before him, her knuckles presented to his lips. “I have you at a disadvantage. Allow me to introduce myself, if I may be so bold. I am Prince Hans of the Westergards, of the Southern Isles.”

“Oh, a prince!” said Gothel. “You aren’t by any chance a sorceror?”

“I’m afraid my only gifts are those you see before you,” he said, with eyes downcast again.

“Poor Ursula,” Gothel sighed. “She wagered you for a witch with aspirations to the throne. Luckily I never bet.”

“A wise person never does,” said Hans, “unless they’re certain of the outcome.”

“Or they know how to get rid of the other options,” said Gothel.

They smiled at one another. Men were dangerous creatures, Gothel had learned long ago; she hadn’t lied when she told Rapunzel that. The trick of course was to be as dangerous as they were. Coming night after night to the House of Mouse, looking inevitably each evening to the table where Rapunzel laughed with her handsome thief, Gothel hadn’t felt dangerous at all but something else entirely, something she hadn’t often felt before she had fallen back in the tower, Rapunzel—her daughter—reaching out for her as though to catch Gothel as she tumbled.

“Yes, and that trampy little mermaid is my niece,” Ursula had said once to Gothel, “but you don’t see me succumbing to the guilt. We’re villains, dear. It’s what we’re meant to do.”

Hans still held Gothel’s hand, poised so that her fingers were draped across his palm and tipped toward the table, as a princess might offer her hand. He covered that hand with his free hand, so that Gothel’s hand was clasped between his palms. His gloves were white, leather, embroidered at the wrists with an alternating pattern of blue stars and green dots.

“Aren’t you lucky,” Gothel said, “poor, lost boy—alone in this scary new place—to have found me?” and she flicked the end of his cute turned-up nose with her fingernail.

His smile—tinged somewhat with a ghost of annoyance—was wicked. She felt rather wicked too. She thought she might like to annoy him some more.

The waiter had returned, a tray in hand, or fin, or whatever those things were called that penguins had. Flippers, or wings; it hardly mattered. Gothel extricated her hand from his and took up both champagne flutes, offering him one. When he reached for it, she drew it back so his fingers fell just short. His eyes narrowed, but the curl of his mouth was appreciative. She did so enjoy being appreciated.

“A toast,” she said, smiling, “to new, dear friends.” And Gothel gave him the glass.

“A toast to like minds,” he suggested, and he tapped his glass against hers. A cascade of bubbles ran up to the top and popped.

“I leave you for one moment,” Ursula said, leaning against the barricade separating this booth from the next, “and already you’ve replaced me.”

Hans stood quickly. The mask had come back up. “Oh, pardon me, madam—was this seat yours?”

“It must be,” she said, sliding onto it, “as I’m sitting here. But why don’t you sit over there next to Gothel—I’d loathe breaking up such a promising tête-à-tête.”

Hans bowed and turned to do so. When he’d got his back to her, Ursula winked outrageously at Gothel and, with her tentacle, outlined the shape of his rear. Gothel hid her laughter in the champagne. That was only polite. Hans’ smile, directed only to Gothel, meant only for her, was anything but. She smirked sleekly right back at him around the glass.

“So,” Ursula purred, “please do tell us _everything_. I can’t _wait_ to hear what you’ve done.”

“I couldn’t speak of such ugly things with two such delicate ladies,” Hans protested.

Ursula threw her head back and laughed, and Gothel joined her. The penguins gave them a wide berth after that.

“Is the service always so terrible here?” Hans asked later, and Gothel laid her hand on his arm. Deliciously, he turned slightly, so that her hand might slip easily into the crook of his arm. What a thrill it was to flirt, and with someone who wouldn’t start huffing and puffing about morality. She’d enough of that to deal with when it came to her own guilt, all of that deserved, whatever Ursula said. In life Gothel hadn’t been much of a mother, and in death she wasn’t much of one either, but she could perhaps acknowledge that it was for the best that Rapunzel sat at that corner table, as far from Gothel’s booth as she could manage.

“Villains aren’t of high standing in the House of Mouse,” Gothel said, turning her thoughts instead to the handsome young man beside her. “We’ll just have to teach them a lesson, won’t we?”

**Author's Note:**

> Gothel/Hans, the only Hans 'ship I can get into. HELL YEAH LET'S DO IT


End file.
